#So much crying but also so much love and laughter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mahgyu · 1 month ago

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𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 ──── 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Gojo’s aftercare is a chaotic mix of overwhelming affection and genuine tenderness. He’ll kiss every inch of your body like he’s blessing it, whispering filthy praise between laughter and teasing. He insists on carrying you to the shower—even if you can walk—and stays glued to your side afterward, feeding you snacks in bed and stroking your hair like he just saved your life with his dick. And honestly? He kind of did.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

Gojo’s obsessed with your thighs. He grabs, squeezes, bites—treats them like his personal stress relief. He loves burying his face between them, overstimulating you until your legs tremble. On himself, he’s cocky about his hands. He knows exactly how to use them—whether it’s choking you lightly, holding you down, or fingering you with obscene precision.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He cums a lot. Like, a lot. It’s thick, hot, and he loves making a mess with it. Seeing you dripping with his cum, struggling to catch your breath, is the highest form of satisfaction for him. He’ll paint your stomach, your boobs, your back—or fill you up and make you stay like that. He gets off hard on the idea of you walking around with him still inside you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s definitely jerked off to your voice memos or texts when you’re away—sometimes in risky places, like the Jujutsu High rooftop or a meeting room. He also has a video of you sucking him off, saved in a hidden folder on his phone. He watches it way more often than he admits.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Oh, he knows what he’s doing. Gojo has confidence for a reason—he’s had his share of partners, but no one’s ever driven him crazy like you. He reads your body like a damn book, adapts on the fly, and always, always makes you come first. He’s a god in bed, and he knows it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s a sucker for doggy style, watching your ass bounce as he pounds into you makes him feral. But he also loves reverse cowgirl, just to lean back and enjoy the view while his hands roam all over your body.

G=Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s playful as hell. Sex with Gojo always has moments of teasing, smug grins, and cocky comments. He’ll crack a joke mid-thrust just to make you roll your eyes—then fuck you hard enough to make you forget how to speak.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Despite his chaotic energy, Gojo is deeply affectionate. His kisses are desperate, his touches linger, and he holds you like you’re the only thing grounding him. He might joke around, but you feel how serious he is in the way he worships your body like a temple.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off often, especially if you're not around. He’ll use your panties, your pics, or even replay voice notes of you moaning. He doesn’t hide it—he gets off on being shameless. If you catch him, he’ll smirk and invite you to join in.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Gojo’s kinks are wild: he’s into teasing, power play, public risk, praise mixed with degradation, and especially overstimulation. He loves watching you cry from too much pleasure, telling you how good you look ruined on his cock.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Everywhere. Literally. A classroom late at night? Done. His office desk? Absolutely. The back of a car? Why not. But his favorite? Against the mirror, so he can see your face and whisper in your ear how wrecked you look.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your voice, your scent, the way you look at him with need—everything turns him on. But what really pushes him over the edge is your confidence when you take control. Climb on top, talk dirty, show him how much you want him—and you’ll see Gojo beg.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

He’s adventurous, but he draws the line at anything degrading or cruel in a way that feels disrespectful. He’ll call you names in bed, sure—but if you ever looked genuinely hurt or uncomfortable, he’d shut everything down immediately.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving? He adores it. He’ll eat you out for hours, smirking while you shake. Receiving? He’ll make a show of it—head thrown back, groaning loud, praising your mouth like you’re divine. He’s loud, filthy, and always holds your hair gently.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Gojo’s pace depends on the mood. He can be slow and sensual, drawing it out just to watch you beg, or fast and brutal, fucking you like he’s starved. Either way, he always keeps you on edge, never letting you fully know what’s coming next.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s obsessed with quickies. Before a mission, during breaks, even in hallways—he gets off on the adrenaline. He’s fast, rough, and cocky, whispering "this’ll hold you over" before disappearing again, leaving you trembling.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He lives for the thrill. Gojo will absolutely finger you under the table or pull you into a hidden hallway to fuck you. Public teasing? Constant. He wants to get caught, just to see you bite your lip trying to stay quiet.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Insane. He can go for hours, back to back. Three, four rounds minimum. He doesn’t stop until you’re crying from overstimulation, legs shaking, brain fogged—and even then, he’ll ask, “One more?”

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns a small collection—vibrators, plugs, even a remote-controlled toy he loves using on you in public. He’ll watch you squirm, completely innocent on the outside, while you beg for mercy in his ear.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s the king of teasing. Gojo will edge you until you’re sobbing, fingers deep but refusing to let you cum until you beg properly. He whispers the filthiest things, licks you until you're right there—then stops, smirking. Pure evil.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud. Moaning, groaning, breathy curses—Gojo lets it all out. He wants you to hear how good you’re making him feel. And he’ll talk through it, too: filthy praise, cocky comments, and shameless begging for more.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s into recording your sex tapes. Nothing fancy, just his phone propped up somewhere. He loves rewatching them when he’s alone, especially the ones where you’re on top, riding him like you own him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Off the charts. Gojo is needy. He craves sex often, but it’s not just physical—he needs to feel you, to connect through touch, skin, heat. When he wants you, it consumes him. He’ll drop everything for you. Every time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s clingy afterward. He won’t sleep unless you’re curled up on his chest or spooning you tightly. He hums soft little sounds, kisses your shoulder, and whispers dumb shit until he finally passes out with a stupid smile on his face.

Did someone ask for another one?! 🤭 Give me suggestions for who should be next. Here’s Nanami’s version

©mahgyu | I do not allow adaptations, translations, or copies of my work.

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khioneee · 3 months ago

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ORGAN THIEF

synopsis. you tell yourself caleb was never yours to have, so you let zayne get close. until caleb decides he doesn’t like to share. warnings. jealousy. mentions of violence. angst. pairings. caleb x reader (x zayne) word count. 7k. an. felt like crying tbh. might edit later.

when you were young, there was no such thing as distance between you and caleb.

you were always together, moving through life side by side, never questioning it. there were scraped knees from racing down the street, grass stains from summers spent lying in the backyard, and lazy afternoons where he let you steal food from his plate without complaint. nights meant whispered conversations under blanket forts, his voice always the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

you grew up together, side by side, pulling each other out of the awkwardness of childhood, shedding timidity like second skin.

caleb and y/n, y/n and caleb.

here’s y/n.

here’s caleb.

here's a bond that no one else quite understands.

your love for caleb hasn’t changed, but it’s grown into something you didn’t understand. can’t understand. not yet.

but caleb has grown. taller, sharper, still careless with his hair, but just as hopeless at tying his tie in the morning. there’s a natural ease to him now, a quiet confidence that draws people in without effort. he doesn’t just enter a room, he shifts the atmosphere, commanding attention without needing to say a word.

you hear the way the girls in the hallways whisper about him, their voices hushed but excited, their eyes lighting up when he so much as glances in their direction. he’s the kind of person people gravitate toward, like planets drawn to the pull of the sun.

kind. athletic. smart. golden.

the one who remembers names, who helps the new kid find their classes, who scores the winning shot and shrugs like it was never in question.

when caleb talks to people, he makes them feel important, like they’re the only one in the room, like whatever they’re saying is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. he finds beauty in everything, in everyone, and in return, people can’t help but see the same in him. they admire him, look up to him, want to be close to him.

but they also fear him.

they don’t realize it at first. not until they get too close to you.

at first, you didn’t think much of it.

the way conversations with guys ended abruptly, how some hesitated before sitting next to you, or how your lab partner, who had been openly flirting with you just the day before, suddenly kept his distance. his easy confidence had dulled overnight, his laughter forced, his eyes avoiding yours.

maybe it was just a coincidence, a strange pattern you convinced yourself wasn’t worth questioning. but then it started happening more often. the brief glances, the quiet goodbyes, the way some of caleb’s teammates barely acknowledged you despite knowing that you were close.

still, you never questioned it. because, in the end, it never really bothered you.

caleb had always been like that.

like how he insisted you wear his jersey at his games. the first time, he tossed it at you casually, like it was an afterthought. ‘now they’ll all know exactly who you’re watching.’

you rolled your eyes but pulled it on anyway, ignoring how it smelled faintly of his cologne and sweat. after that, it became a habit. if you ever showed up without it, he’d pull it from his bag and toss it over. no words, no discussion.

or how he always left his jacket with you when you were cold. it didn’t matter if you insisted you were fine. if he caught you rubbing your arms or tucking your hands into your sleeves, his jacket would be around your shoulders before you could protest. warm, a little too big, and never once did he ask for it back.

if you returned it to his room later, he’d only shrug like he hadn’t expected it back in the first place.

and then there were the small things. how he always found a way to sit next to you, even when his friends were at another table. how he would drop by your class between periods, casually placing a snack on your desk before walking off without a word. he never explained why, and you never asked.

maybe you should have questioned it more.

but the thing that stood out the most was that caleb never introduced you as his sister.

it would’ve been the easiest thing to say. it would have explained the connection, the way you were always around each other, how naturally you fit into his life. but he never said it. not once.

until people noticed.

one day, after a game, one of his teammates finally asked.

‘so, she’s your sister, huh?’ the guy grinned, nudging caleb in the ribs.

caleb didn’t respond immediately, just looked at him, unreadable.

the guy smirked, pushing further. ‘should i start calling you brother-in-law, then?’

you expected caleb to laugh it off, maybe roll his eyes or shove the guy off like he usually would. but he didn’t. his response was smooth, controlled, and too even.

‘she’s off-limits.’

there was no room for argument.

his teammate hesitated, raising his hands in mock surrender before forcing out a laugh. ‘damn, man. didn’t know it was like that.’

you didn’t think much of it.

not until a few days later, when that same teammate got injured at practice.

a bad fall, they said.

a collision that left him with a bruised eye and a limp that lasted over a week.

accidents happen all the time in sports. it was easy to write it off as bad luck.

but when you glanced at caleb, standing on the sidelines, unbothered, indifferent with bruises along his knuckles, you felt something shift in your stomach.

maybe you should have been mad. maybe you should have confronted him, called him out, demanded an explanation.

not because it was unfair.

not because it was wrong.

but because you liked it too much.

you liked the way caleb made it impossible for anyone else to get too close. the way his hand lingered at the small of your back when he guided you through a crowded hallway. the way he always waited for you after school, even when you had nothing planned.

the way he looked at you sometimes. like there was something simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken and dangerous and impossible.

and that was the problem.

because he wasn’t yours.

because he was supposed to be your best friend.your family. the one person you shouldn’t want.

you understood now. the love you had for him has grown to fill the spaces you didn’t have when you were a child. it’s grown into longing and desire and jealousy, something so fucking powerful and essential that there isn’t a piece of you that doesn’t love him.

so you did the only thing you could think of.

you avoided him.

at first, caleb let it slide, pretending not to notice the way you pulled away. he let you ignore him in the hallways, let you skip out on lunches, let you slip past him at home without so much as a glance. maybe he thought you just needed space, that whatever was wrong would work itself out on its own.

but after a few weeks, the cracks started to show. he stopped lingering after class, stopped waiting for you outside your door, stopped trying to pull you back into his orbit. the easy confidence he carried dulled, his smirks a little less sharp, his presence not as loud. he wasn’t himself, and he knew it.

then, one day, he cornered you after the last period.

the hallway had mostly emptied, students filtering out in groups, their voices fading into the distance. but caleb wasn’t moving. he stood in front of you, arms crossed, blocking your path, his amethyst eyes sharp and unwavering.

‘you’re avoiding me.’

it wasn’t a question.

your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. ‘i’m not.’

his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. ‘bullshit.’

you exhaled slowly, willing your voice to stay steady. ‘i’ve just been busy.’

he scoffed, shaking his head. ‘right. too busy to come out of your room? too busy to even lok at me? we live in the same house, y/n. you don’t just disappear on me.’

you swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. caleb ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, frustration radiating off of him.

‘so you win. whatever it is i did, i’m sorry. now will you please fucking forgive me and put us both out of our misery?’

the words hit harder than you expected. he thought this was about him. he thought he had done something wrong. and worst of all, he looked miserable. bruises under his eyes, the tell–tale signs of too little sleep. heartbreak seeping through the sunshine boy's skin and weaving its way through his veins and making rivers.

the weight of it crashed into you all at once, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. before you could stop it, your vision blurred.

caleb’s face shifted the moment he saw the tears, his frustration dissolving into something softer.

his shoulders relaxed, his hands twitching at his sides before he finally reached for you, pulling you in without hesitation. his warmth wrapped around you, solid and steady, his breath slow against your hair. his fingers found their way to your hip, his lips pressing lightly against your forehead, his presence sinking into you in a way that felt painfully familiar.

and you didn’t resist.

because despite everything, despite the space you had tried to put between you, despite how complicated things had become, caleb still felt safe.

so you pressed into his touch, letting yourself breathe him in, letting yourself forget, just for a moment, that you had ever tried to let him go.

friends, friends, friends.

he held you close, his voice rough with emotion. ‘i’m sorry, pipsqueak,’ he muttered against your hair. ‘whatever i did or said, i’m sorry, okay?’

you didn’t answer.

you couldn’t.

because the truth was—

you were the one who needed to apologize.

because this was never about him.

it was about you.

and the fact that no matter how hard you tried, you could never, ever stop wanting him.

too much, too much. you wanted caleb too much, want too much always, but you are not together and you had to accept that.

caleb’s pinky locked into yours. you weren’t sure if it’s another apology or a source of comfort you need in your state, or just plain habit, but he’s touching you (friends, friends, friends) and that’s all you really need to know.

because despite everything, caleb still felt like home.

but home didn’t last.

caleb starts staying out late.

at first, it’s nothing. just a few nights out, a way to kill time.

you hear about it through his teammates, offhand mentions from gran when she asks if he’s home yet. It doesn’t bother you.

caleb has always been social, always had people orbiting around him, always found ways to fill the spaces in his life.

but then it becomes a habit. the late nights turn into early mornings, his weekends disappear into parties, and soon enough, it feels like he’s never home. he moves through the house like a ghost, slipping in while everyone else is asleep and leaving before anyone notices.

and you notice.

you notice the way he comes back smelling like perfume that isn’t his, how his lips are redder than before, how his amethyst eyes seem heavier, dimmer, weighed down by something you don’t recognize. you see the kiss stains on his neck, the scratches down his back.

you wish they hurt. you wish you left them there.

you don’t avoid him, not entirely, but you don’t talk to him the same way. your words are clipped, your tone indifferent. you stop waiting for him after school, stop lingering in doorways to say goodnight, stop reaching for him first.

when he nudges your shoulder, slings an arm around you, tugs on your sleeve like he always does, you pull away before he can get too close.

and caleb notices.

at first, he brushes it off, shrugs like it doesn’t matter. he teases you the way he always does, pokes and prods, waiting for you to roll your eyes and shove him back. but the space between you keeps growing, stretching into something neither of you know how to name.

he stays out later. comes home smelling stronger, marked up worse, his voice hoarse in the mornings like he’s been screaming into the night. he looks at you, waiting for a reaction.

but you don’t give him one.

and for the first time in your life, caleb stops trying.

the sky was falling weeks later when the door of your own room opens. blinking sleepily, you leaned over and flicked on the bedside lamp. he swayed against the wall, there is purple and green pressed all over his skin.

it’s caleb, whose lips are swollen again.

it’s late. too late.

the smell of beer clings to him, mixed with something sweeter. something that isn’t his.

his hoodie is loose, his hair messy, his steps uneven as he leans against your doorframe, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as they land on you.

‘you mad at me, pipsqueak?’ his voice is lower than usual, playful, teasing, but there’s something behind it. something that isn’t entirely a joke.

your lamp lit up the dark bruise on his neck in a ghastly light. you could still see the fingertips, could feel the ghost of them pressing into his skin. friends.

your hand goes white–knuckled, gripping into the sheets. ‘go to bed, caleb.’

‘i’ll sleep in your bed,’ he mutters, like it’s obvious. like it’s true. like you’ll agree without doubt.

you exhale, shaking your head. ‘you’re drunk.’

‘and?’ he counters, stepping into your space, his smirk faltering just slightly. ‘you say that like it changes anything.’

you don’t answer.

because maybe it doesn’t.

he peeled off his hoodie without a word. there are red fingernail marks on the ridge of his spine and bruises on his hips, signs from the girl with perfume you smelled on him last night, the girl who gets to touch caleb in the places you can’t.

he watches you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure something out. and then, finally—

‘i don’t get it.’ his voice is quieter now, more serious. ‘what did i do?’

you settled back against the bed. ‘nothing.’

‘bullshit.’ he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. ‘you’ve barely looked at me in weeks, y/n. you don’t wait for me anymore. you barely talk to me. and every time i try to touch you, you act like it makes you sick.’ his jaw clenches. ‘so tell me. what the hell did i do?’

you should lie. you should push him away. you should say something sharp, something final, something that makes him leave.

but you don’t.

and caleb, drunk and tired and hurting, sees right through you.

when he reached your fingers, he thread them between your own, collecting all the pieces of your conscience and disappearing without a trace, all remnants of your soul in hand.

his expression shifts, something softer flickering across his face. and then—

his fingers graze your cheek, barely there, like he’s testing the distance between you. the touch is slow, hesitant, deliberate. like he knows he shouldn’t, but he’s never been the type to stop himself when it comes to you.

his hand moves to your hair, tucking it behind your ear with practiced ease, like it’s something second nature, like he’s done it so many times before that he doesn’t even have to think about it.

his thumb lingers, brushing over your cheek, tracing the frustration etched into your skin. it’s warm, careful, almost apologetic. like he’s trying to smooth out the anger, the hurt, the weight of everything unspoken between you.

then, softer than you’ve ever heard him, he murmurs, ‘how can i sleep if my favorite girl is mad at me?’

and when you look at him, really look at him, your breath stumbles in your chest. he knew how to do it. how to make you feel like the sun rises in his veins only for you.

because caleb doesn’t just sound tired. he looks it.

the dim light casts hollows into his features, emphasizing the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. his eyes, usually sharp and full of mischief, are duller now, heavier, shadowed by something that feels dangerously close to regret. there’s no cocky grin, no teasing glint.

just quiet, aching exhaustion.

for the first time, caleb looks small. like the saddest man on earth, like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t know how to fix.

you couldn't help but think of the amount of stars that had fallen with every step he took with a frown.

and it wrecks you.

you wanted to hold him, but you knew you’ll be left with burned fingertips and calloused heart.

because he smells like beer and someone else’s perfume. because there are scratches on his back that weren’t made by your hands. because he has no right to touch you this softly after spending his nights with people who don’t know him the way you do.

because no matter how much you wish you didn’t care. you do.

and so, despite everything, despite the weight pressing against your ribs, despite knowing you shouldn’t. out control, out of control, out of—

you kiss him.

for a tense, breathless second, he didn’t move.

his body stiff, frozen, caught somewhere between hesitation and something else entirely.

and then, you felt it.

his hands sliding up, fingers threading into your hair, gripping tight.

and then for a second. just a second. he kisses you back.

it’s desperate, reckless, a collision of everything you’ve been holding back. his lips taste like beer, and you don’t care. your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer.

his lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

a quiet moan escaped you, swallowed by the heat of him, by the way his hands moved down, gripping, pulling, like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

then, he tore himself away from you. friends.

tepping back so fast it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. the warmth of his mouth, his hands, his presence, gone in an instant, leaving behind nothing but the sharp contrast of cold in his absence.

your eyes snapped open, breath uneven, pulse hammering as you stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. caleb stood right in front of you, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his disheveled hair messier than before, his lips still swollen from the kiss. his amethyst eyes were dark, unreadable, but something about them made your stomach twist.

because he knew.

he knew what this kiss meant. he knew what you felt, what you had been too afraid to say. he knew you had shattered whatever fragile barrier had been keeping this moment at bay. he knew.

and yet, he smiled.

not the kind that comforted, not the kind that softened his sharp edges. this one was different. it was hollow, something cold curling at the edges, something sharp enough to cut through you with ease.

‘had enough practice?’

his voice was light, almost amused, as if the kiss had been nothing at all, as if it hadn’t just unraveled you completely. you could only stare, frozen in place, his words slicing through you before you even had the chance to process them.

and you took it for what it was, a dagger to the heart.

then, with careful, deliberate movements, he stepped back, putting more space between you, widening a distance that already felt impossible to cross. his hand raked through his hair, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no real amusement in it.

‘if you just wanted to get your first kiss over with, you could’ve told me.’ the words were effortless, thrown out like they meant nothing, but there was something in the way his voice faltered at the end that made your stomach drop. his gaze flickered over you for a second, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite anything at all. ‘guess now you’re ready for the real thing with whoever you actually want.’

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

it didn’t matter. caleb didn’t wait for a response. he exhaled sharply, his eyes lingering for a beat too long before he turned away. there was no hesitation in his steps, no second glance, nothing to suggest that this moment had shaken him the way it had shaken you.

and then, just like that, he was gone.

he doesn't think, doesn't wait, doesn't want.

he just leaves.

disappearing into the dark, leaving you standing there, cold, alone, and regretting everything.

and maybe that was the moment you lost him.

y/n and caleb, and it's hard to tell where one end and the other begins. there probably isn't a difference, and trying to draw the line would doom the both of you.

this time, caleb starts avoiding you.

and this time, you know exactly why.

it’s different now. worse. because he doesn’t just disappear at school. he disappears at home, too.

you hear him tell gran he has practice when you know he doesn’t. you catch glimpses of him slipping out late at night, hood up, car keys dangling from his fingers. when he comes back, it’s always late, long after the house has gone quiet.

you pretend not to hear the front door creak open, the careful shuffle of his footsteps down the hall, the way he pauses outside your door for just a second before moving on.

he doesn’t look at you.

not in the morning when you pass each other in the kitchen, not when you sit at opposite ends of the dinner table, not when gran asks him a question and he answers without ever acknowledging the weight of your silence. the air between you is thick, heavy with everything unspoken, but neither of you say a word.

at school, it’s even worse.

you used to know exactly where to find him: leaning against his locker, sprawled across the lunch table, laughing too loudly, always moving, always there. but now, he’s everywhere except near you.

and when you do see him, it’s only for a second. a glance across the hallway before he looks away. a flicker of amethyst eyes lost in a crowd. an almost-moment before he disappears again, slipping into someone else’s world, somewhere you don’t belong.

you should’ve expected this. you should’ve known that kiss, your first kiss, would wreck everything.

but somehow, it still hurts.

and what’s worse, what makes your stomach twist, what makes your skin feel too tight and your throat close up, is that you hate yourself for it.

you hate yourself for wanting it.

for wanting him.

you feel disgusted when you think about it, about how easily you caved, about how much you liked it, about the way his hands felt on your skin, his lips against yours. you hate that even now, when you close your eyes, you can still feel it, still want it, still crave the weight of him against you like a sickness you don’t know how to cure.

so you do what you can. you push forward. you stop waiting.

and that was when you met him.

it started with a name, called out in class like it meant nothing.

‘zayne and y/n.’

your biology teacher paired you together for a semester-long project, and you hadn’t expected anything from it. zayne wasn’t someone you had paid much attention to before, and when he pulled out the chair beside you, there was no hesitation, no awkwardness, just quiet acceptance.

‘looks like we’re partners.’ his tone was even, uninterested, like he was already calculating how much effort this would require.

‘looks like it.’you mirrored his indifference, expecting nothing more than a few study sessions and a forgettable final grade.

but it wasn’t just another assignment.

zayne wasn’t like caleb.

he didn’t overthink his place beside you, didn’t steal glances to gauge what others might think. he wasn’t loud, wasn’t overbearing, didn’t fill the silence with pointless conversation just to make his presence known. he was steady, self-contained, comfortable in the quiet. after weeks of feeling like you were walking on eggshells, that steadiness ws a relief.

at first, your time together was purely academic.

library meetings that were structured and efficient, an easy rhythm of work that never strayed beyond the boundaries of your project. but then, something changed. lunches became routine, neither of you discussing it but always sitting at the same table. walks to class happened naturally, steps falling in sync without effort. conversations stretched beyond assignments and deadlines, carrying into late-night messages about things that had nothing to do with school.

zayne told you about his love for the winter, and how he would sneak out during the first snow fall. you told him about the time you and caleb got caught sneaking out, how caleb had talked his way out of trouble while you stood there panicking.

unlike caleb, zayne didn’t tease, didn’t turn your stories into jokes at your expense. he just listened, nodded like he was actually picturing it.

too kind, too understanding, too much of exactly what you needed.

somewhere along the way, you became friends. and soon, you were always together.

dinners with gran started to change. it used to be the three of you. gran, caleb, and you.

but caleb started skipping them, claiming he was busy, always finding somewhere else to be, never home long enough for it to feel like anything but an excuse.

zayne, on the other hand, filled the space caleb left behind.

it started as a casual invitation.

gran insisting he stay after studying, reassuring him there was more than enough food. he had accepted without fuss, without hesitation, and from that night on, his place at the table never felt out of place. gran told stories you had heard a thousand times before, and zayne listened to every one of them, nodding along, asking questions like he hadn’t already picked up on the details from you.

he wasn’t a replacement for caleb.

but he was something constant.

then one afternoon, you and zayne crossed paths with caleb in the hallway.

there was no tension, no hesitation, no moment of discomfort where zayne second-guessed himself. he just looked at caleb, gave a simple nod in acknowledgment, and kept walking, like it was nothing.

like caleb was no one special.

like he wasn’t even worth a second thought.

caleb didn’t say anything. he just stood there, watching.

but you knew that wasn’t the end of it.

and you were right.

the moment the wrong boy fell in love with you. and you wished he could pull out your heart, and make him see that you fell in love with the wrong boy too.

that was why you were here, standing in the biting cold, surrounded by barren fields of frost, with zayne’s rare laughter curling into the air like something warm, something that was meant to feel safe. that was why you let him get close, why you let yourself believe, even for a moment, that this could be enough.

you shouldn’t have been thinking about caleb.

so you focused on the wrong boy instead.

on the way his voice carried in the quiet, on how he walked beside you without hesitation, how his presence didn’t ask for anything more than what you were willing to give. he wasn’t waiting for you to figure things out, wasn’t demanding answers you didn’t have. he was just there. steady. certain.

maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like when you didn’t want it. something easy, something quiet, something that didn’t threaten to tear you apart.

but it still didn’t fit right in your chest.

‘we’re here.’

zayne’s voice pulled you back, his excitement evident in his eyes as he gestured toward the sled he had set up.

you blinked at it, then at him. ‘are you serious?’

he grinned, brushing the snow off the seat before tossing his scarf around your shoulders, adjusting it with careful hands. the fabric was thick and slightly uneven, the pattern something you wouldn’t have picked for yourself, but it was warm, and it smelled like him.

you raised an eyebrow, eyeing the details.

‘gran taught me how to knit,’ he admitted, a flicker of amusement in his expression.

your fingers traced the edges of the scarf as you exhaled. ‘it’s nice.’

and it was.

you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry over how endearing it was, how easily he gave things to you, how much he seemed to mean it. he could have handed you anything, and you would have taken it, because this. this moment, this feeling. was already too much.

then, without a word, he just looked at you.

not a passing glance. not a fleeting moment of consideration.

zayne never did things halfway.

when he looked at you, he made sure you knew.

his hazel eyes were bright despite the winter gray, his expression unreadable but not indifferent. there was something certain about the way he watched you, something steady in the way his gaze settled, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

like he took in every detail.

the way the cold had flushed your cheeks, the way your breath curled into the air, the way the weight of the moment made your fingers tremble against the scarf.

‘is there something on my face?’ you asked, startled by the intensity in his stare.

he shook his head, his gaze flickering slightly before settling again. ‘i wish i had more time with you.’

the words were quiet, simple, but the weight of them landed hard.

you swallowed, pulse stuttering, because there was something in the way he said it that made your chest ache. he didn’t say it like a passing thought, didn’t say it like he was reaching for something just out of grasp. he said it like he knew.

like he already understood that whatever this was, whatever you were, had an expiration date.

his eyes dropped, just for a second, barely noticeable, but enough.

enough to know what he was thinking.

enough to know that if you leaned in, he wouldn’t stop you.

and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to.

not because it was right. not because it was real.

but because you needed to forget.

you needed something to press over the ache in your chest, something to drown out the weight of caleb’s absence, the sound of his voice in your head, the way he had always, always been there. until he wasn’t.

but you didn’t.

because it would have been a lie.

‘gran, we’ve talked about this—‘

caleb’s voice cut through the air, sharp with frustration, breaking the moment before it had the chance to solidify into something real.

‘no, you talked. an aviation school halfway across the country? when there are good ones right here? what’s wrong with being close to home?’

the front door creaked open, and as if time couldn’t be any crueler, gran and caleb stepped outside.

his presence was immediate, impossible to ignore.

caleb had always carried himself like he belonged in any space he occupied, but now, standing in the cold with the weight of an argument still lingering between him and gran, he felt like something distant. something storming just beneath the surface, unreadable and untouchable.

zayne sighed, shifting beside you, but you barely noticed.

because while he was looking at you, you were looking at caleb.

your stomach twisted, the weight in your chest pressing down harder, suffocating in a way you didn’t understand.

‘and i know it’s far. i know it’s hard. but it’s not about running away.’ caleb’s voice was firm, steady, like he had already made up his mind. he barely hesitated before adding, ‘this is what’s best for me. for all of us.’

and just like that, it was over.

he turned before anyone could argue, before you could even process what he had said, stepping back into the warmth of the house.

the door clicked shut behind him, and somehow, that sound felt louder than anything else.

you don't know what's love and what's hate now. if there is a difference between the two of you, y/n and caleb, here.

later that evening, you fell.

it was late, exhaustion pulling at your limbs as you trudged up the stairs, arms full of books. zayne followed a few steps behind, his pace unhurried, hands tucked into his pockets as he listened to you yap.

you were mid-sentence, distracted by the conversation, too focused on the warmth of another presence at your side to notice the uneven step beneath your feet.

your toe caught the edge, and before you could react, your balance shifted forward. books tilted dangerously in your grasp before slipping from your fingers as gravity pulled you down. your stomach lurched, breath catching in your throat—

but you never hit the ground.

zayne’s hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, his other pressing against your waist with steady ease. his grip was strong, grounding, keeping you upright before you even had the chance to panic. your breathing was uneven, heart hammering from the sudden shock, your body tensed from the lingering adrenaline.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

his fingers still pressed against your skin, his touch neither hurried or hesitant. . he had caught you, steadied you, and yet he didn’t let go.

you became painfully aware of the way his chest hovered just inches from yours, the warmth of his palm burning through your shirt.

when you looked up at him, his expression was unreadable. calm, composed, but something else lingered beneath the surface. he wasn’t just looking at you. he was waiting.

waiting for you to move. waiting for you to step back. waiting for your permission.

and that was what made your pulse stutter.

it’s too much and it’s never enough.

you should have pulled away. should have created space. should have let the moment pass as nothing more than a near fall. but you didn’t.

because then, his gaze flickered. just slightly, just for a second. before his eyes dropped to your lips.

your breath hitched, and before you could process what was happening, a voice shattered the moment.

‘y/n? zayne?’

gran’s voice, light, amused, pulling you back to reality.

and then—

‘what the fuck?’

caleb.

your entire body locked up, tension snapping through your muscles as your head turned toward the sound.

he stood at the end of the hall, unmoving, his eyes dark, expression unreadable. his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

he wasn’t just watching. he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

zayne, still close, exhaled a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, as if this was nothing, as if caleb wasn’t standing there barely a few feet away. gran smirked, clearly entertained by whatever she thought was happening.

caleb did not.

he didn’t speak, didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t so much as glance in your direction. he just turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing down the hall without another word.

and somehow, that was worse.

dinner was slow, thick with something unspoken, the weight of the evening settling over the table like a fog.

gran, as oblivious as ever, carried the conversation, her voice the only thing filling the silence. ‘he’s going to be a doctor, y/n,’ she said, beaming like it was something worth celebrating.

zayne gave a polite shake of his head, still eating, still composed, his presence unwavering despite the obvious tension in the room. ‘still got a long way to go.’

but the real shift came when caleb sat down.

for the first time in weeks, he joined dinner.

he didn’t make an excuse, didn’t disappear before the plates hit the table, didn’t claim to have somewhere else to be.

he was here. silent, stiff, but here.

his fork scraped against his plate, but he barely ate. his shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly. he answered when spoken to, voice clipped, his eyes fixed on his food, refusing to meet yours.

zayne, on the other hand, didn’t react. he carried himself with the same quiet steadiness as always, like nothing had changed, like caleb’s presence, or his anger, meant nothing to him. he didn’t fidget, didn’t acknowledge the storm brewing across the table, didn’t shift under the weight of caleb’s unspoken frustration.

and that made it worse.

but you noticed.

caleb was stiff, his usual relaxed posture replaced with something rigid, something tense. his grip on his fork was just a little too tight, his knuckles flexing under the strain. he barely touched his food, answering gran’s questions with clipped responses, his voice measured, controlled.

through it all, he never once looked at you.

your stomach twisted, the weight of his silence pressing down on you more than any harsh words ever could. it wasn’t like caleb to hold back, it wasn't like him to sit in the same room as you and act as if you didn’t exist. but tonight, he was locked in his own storm, letting it brew under the surface, making sure you felt it, even if he refused to acknowledge you.

then, after zayne left, gran turned to caleb, her gaze slow and assessing, studying him the way only she could. she took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a quiet clink before speaking, her tone light but deliberate.

‘zayne is a good boy, but whether he’s good enough for you...’ she let the words linger just long enough to make them feel heavier before tilting her head toward caleb, watching for a reaction. ‘what do you think, caleb?’

the shift in him was subtle.

a slight tightening of his jaw, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, the barely-there twitch of his fingers against the table. you barely had time to process it before he moved, smooth and purposefully, his arm slipping around your shoulders like it belonged there.

his grip was warm, steady, and possessive.

‘i think,’ he said, his voice softer than usual, the perfect balance of ease and sincerity, ‘as long as pipsqueak’s happy, then i’m happy too.’

the words were convincing.

to anyone else, they would have sounded effortless, genuine even. but you knew him. you knew the calm in his voice when he was anything but. you knew the way he smiled when he wanted to bite back something sharper. you knew the restraint in his touch, the tension running just beneath the surface.

and right now, caleb wasn’t just mad.

he was furious.

furious that you had kept something from him. furious that you had let someone else too close. furious that, for the first time, there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

later that night, when you knock on his door, he opens it immediately, like he had been waiting.

the hallway is dim, the only light spilling from his room, casting sharp shadows across his face. the space between you feels suffocating, thick with something unspoken, something heavy you aren’t ready to name.

his expression is unreadable, his face carefully blank, but you see it anyway.

the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightens around the doorknob, the barely restrained control in the way he stands, like he’s holding himself back.

your pulse thrums in your throat as you force the words out. ‘did you mean it?’

caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, his silence stretching unbearably between you.

you swallow hard, pushing forward even as your stomach twists. ‘as long as i’m happy?’

a second passes, then another. his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he finally answers.

‘no.’

the word lands between you like a blow. it should make things clearer, should make it easier to understand, but instead, it only makes everything worse.

you shift on your feet, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs, but caleb just watches you, his amethyst eyes locked onto yours in a way that makes it impossible to breathe.

‘then why are you acting like this?’

there's a crack in his surface, his electric electric eyes gleaming in undetectable, hidden message. his expression was a clear indication to what he felt.he wasn't ready to hear that.

his exhale is slow, controlled, measured, but there’s something beneath it, somehing restrained. and then, just as carefully, he says it.

‘get rid of him.’

the command slices through the air, sharp and undeniable, like a final puzzle piece snapping into place. your stomach drops at the certainty in his voice, at the quiet weight behind his words.

‘i-i can’t.’ the response comes out weak, barely more than a whisper, but it’s the only thing you can give him.

something in caleb shifts instantly. his body tenses, his expression sharpening as his focus narrows completely onto you. his movements are deliberate, controlled, like he’s making a conscious effort not to move too fast, not to let whatever he’s feeling slip past the careful edges of his restraint.

‘what do you mean you can’t?’ his voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it, a dangerous thread of something unraveling just beneath the surface.

you look away, knowing that whatever comes next will change everything. ‘i don’t want to hurt him.’

the silence that follows is heavier than anything he could have said.

his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders squaring as the warmth in his eyes fades into something colder, something unreadable. his posture doesn’t change, but the shift in the air between you is unmistakable.

‘so you’d rather hurt me?’

the words hit you harder than they should. you weren’t prepared for them, weren’t expecting the weight they carried, the way they landed with a finality that made your chest ache.

your throat tightens, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix whatever just cracked open between you. but caleb doesn’t look away, doesn’t take it back, doesn’t even flinch as the meaning behind his own words settles over him.

his gaze flickers, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he exhales sharply, like he’s regretting letting you see this part of him.

‘are you saying… you’re jealous?’ the words feel too fragile, too uncertain, but they leave your lips before you can stop them.

for a moment, he doesn’t move.

doesn’t breathe.

you expect him to deny it, to roll his eyes, to throw some dismissive remark at you like he always does. you expect him to do what he’s best at, pretend it doesn’t matter.

but he doesn’t.

he just watches you, his silence heavier than any answer he could have given. and then—slowly, carefully—he smirks.

‘if you want me to say i’m jealous, i will.’

his voice is smooth, effortless, light in a way that only makes your stomach twist. it should be reassuring, should make this moment feel less like a breaking point, but it doesn’t.

because it’s too easy. too casual.

like he’s still pretending.

like he’s still keeping you at a distance.

your fingers curl into fists at your sides as the frustration rises, your voice barely more than a murmur. ‘you could have just lied.’

caleb exhales sharply, tilting his head slightly, and then he moves.

too close. you're too close together for just friends.

your back presses against the wall before you even realize you’ve stepped back. his presence is everywhere, surrounding you, his warmth pulling you in even when you know you should push him away.

and then his hands are on your face, fingers cupping your jaw, steady and warm, grounding in a way that makes it impossible to think.

your pulse jumps, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as his amethyst eyes lock onto yours, the distance between you disappearing entirely. there’s no teasing in his gaze this time, no smirk, no sarcasm.

just heat.

just certainty.

his thumb brushes against your cheek, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of you, like he needs to. and then, his voice drops lower, softer, barely above a whisper.

‘i am jealous, baby.’

a pause.

a beat of silence so heavy you can feel it in your ribs.

his fingers tighten just slightly, his grip firm but careful, like he’s making sure you don’t move, like he doesn’t want you to look away.

you're trying to not cry now but you missed everything you never had.

and then—

‘more than you think possible.’

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girlgenius1111 · 4 days ago

Text

new memories

fresa putellas x solstråle engen sol normally never talks about her parents or her childhood, until a moment at the putellas household has her breaking down. little solfresa blurb :) w @wileys-russo

—

It was the excitement with which Fresa tugged Sol into the house and over to the sofa that had Sol entirely unprepared for the way her heart was about to fall out of her chest. Usually, anything Fresa got excited about made Sol excited too. Even if it was something Sol didn’t really care for, like the Spanish soap operas Fresa was obsessed with, or the new moisturizer she was trying, Sol found that she loved those things because of how much joy they brought her girlfriend.

But as Fresa clicked on the TV and hit the play button on the old VCR, Sol wasn’t excited anymore.

Because there was baby Fresa, chubby cheeked, shrieking with laughter as a teenage Alexia chased her around the kitchen, a wide grin on her face.

“Mami just found it in the attic! I thought we’d watched all the tapes from when we were kids but I hadn’t seen this one!” Fresa explained, a mix of something nostalgic and heavy and fond clear on her face.

A younger Alba walked into the frame, and Fresa paused the video, looking at Sol’s face for a reaction.

“Look, amor! Look at that haircut. Isn’t that a crime?!”

Sol ignored the familiar tight feeling out of her chest, giving her girlfriend what she hoped was a convincing smile.

“Yeah, yeah a real crime.” She murmured, looking down at her hands in her lap before she did something embarrassing like cry.

The smile on Fresa’s face faltered as she studied her girlfriend, seeing for the first time that something wasn’t right.

“Sol, amor, what–”

“Solstråle,” Eli called warmly, hurrying into the room with Alba trailing behind her. “How are you, niña?”

“Good!” Sol lied, forcing herself to look up and meet Eli’s eyes. Of course, nothing was getting past the older woman, either, her eyes flickering between her daughter’s and Sol’s.

Before either Fresa or Eli could say a word, more voices and loud footsteps filtered into the room. Sol felt herself shrinking in on herself, as if the more people that entered, the more likely it was for someone to question why she looked like she was about to cry.

“At least you didn’t look like a mushroom!” Alexia scoffed.

“I looked worse. Like a possessed doll.” Alba complained, gesturing to the TV where the image of her younger self was still frozen.

“Solstråle.” Alexia said curtly, noticing the brunette sat on the couch next to her youngest sister.

“Hola, Sol.” Alba chimed in, using a much more friendly tone.

Sol replied with a soft hello, doing her best to ignore the stares of her girlfriend and Eli.

Alba threw herself down on Fresa’s otherside with a loud huff, reaching for the remote as if she was expecting to have to wrestle it away.

Fresa was completely still, though, her eyes fixed on her girlfriend. It may not have seemed like a big deal to anyone else, but Fresa knew her girlfriend pretty well. She knew when Sol wasn’t okay, even if the Norwegian refused to ever admit that fact. It had just been a momentary lapse in her usual sunny demeanor, but Fresa could see it for what it was.

And what it was… was a big deal.

“Okay, Fresita, you show your girlfriend ugly pictures of me, then Sol should see you in your little helmet hiding from Alexia’s football.” Alba taunted, hitting the fast forward button on the remote, expecting Fresa to launch herself across the couch any moment now. Alexia chuckled as she took a seat in an armchair, also not clocking the tension in the room.

Alba searched the tape for the clip, while Fresa extended her hand, lacing her finger’s with Sol’s.

Except Sol’s hand wasn’t steady, as it normally was. It was clammy and shaking. In fact, it looked as though the entire body of the Norwegian was trembling.

So, instead of wrestling Alba for the remote, or scolding Alexia to say a proper hello to Sol, Fresa abruptly stood up, pulling her girlfriend with her.

“I need alone time.” Fresa announced, turning and dragging Sol towards the hall that led to her bedroom. Sol went willingly, which in and of itself was odd. She never passed up an opportunity to spend time with Fresa’s sisters. Now, though, she didn’t even look up from the ground as she followed her girlfriend down the hallway.

“Huh?” Alba replied, tearing her eyes off the screen for a second to watch her sister walk away.

“Hey! Door open! Six feet apart! No touching!” Alexia called after them, wincing and glaring at her Mami when Eli lightly smacked the back of her head. “What?!”

“This is my house, Alexia, they can have the door shut.” Eli explained exasperatedly. “Besides, Sol is upset about something, give them some space.”

“Really? How could you tell?” Alba asked, brow furrowed.

Alexia rolled her eyes, as if she too hadn’t been oblivious to the Norwegian’s mood. “She probably listened, Alba, instead of running her big mouth every second of every–”

“Oh, I see. I talk too much. I’m the one who goes on and on about corners and passing spaces and free kicks and–”

The two sisters began speaking at the same time, arguing even though they both had half smiles on their faces, like they were enjoying themselves. Knowing them, they probably were.

Eli ignored them, glancing down the hall, hoping everything was okay.

—

Fresa’s hand gripped softly to Sol’s as she led the Norwegian into her bedroom. Neither of them spoke; Sol didn’t have the words to explain everything that was going through her head.

Fresa was sure she had an inkling of what was going on; she wasn’t completely clueless. It was obvious that things weren’t great between Sol and her parents, if for no other reason than the fact that she’d moved across the continent away from her parents and in with her sister. There were bits and pieces Sol let slip, too, short memories that clearly upset her, spoken so softly Fresa had to strain to listen.

And then there were the jokes. The jokes more than anything, like Sol was afraid to let anyone see how much she was hurting. If it had a punchline, Sol could pretend it didn’t make her feel anything.

Fresa caught the pain in Sol’s eyes when she joked about Ingrid being the favorite child. The first time Sol had met Eli, and had seemed completely shocked when Eli had pulled her in for a hug.

The look in Sol’s eyes when the home video had begun playing was something Fresa was sure she would remember forever. It was more than pain; it was agony and sadness and heartbreak. And now, as Fresa pulled her girlfriend over to her neatly made bed, soft sniffles broke the silence.

It was entirely instinctual, Fresa sprawling out on her bed and holding her arms open for the taller girl. It had only been a few months of them being together, but they were both very tactile people. Despite the size difference between them, and the often rough and tough exterior Sol presented, there wasn’t anything in the world that could make her feel better more than laying in Fresa’s arms.

It was a few minutes of silence, of Sol listening to Fresa’s heartbeat and feeling the younger girl’s perfectly manicured nails scratching lightly at her back and scalp before Sol could talk.

“I don’t… I don’t have any home videos of myself that my parents took. Or photos. They’re all mostly of Ingrid, with me in the background of some of them. They never came to any of my school performances or parent teacher conferences. They didn’t care about any of my milestones. Everything I have to remember my childhood by is because Ingrid thought to keep it. Not my parents.” Sol’s voice broke off, and she took a shuddering breath. Fresa’s lips pressed softly into the top of her head.

“It’s okay, amor. Take your time.” Fresa murmured, like she knew exactly how hard it was for Sol to vocalize all of this.

“They never loved me like they loved Ingrid. They tolerated me, until they didn’t anymore. They never wanted me, I wasn’t good enough for them. I’ve just… I’ve never been good enough.”

At this, Fresa shook her head.

“That’s not true.” She said gently. “You’re enough for me, Sol.”

Eyes still welled with tears, lip still quivering, Sol looked up at her girlfriend like she didn’t quite believe her.

“I love you.” Fresa whispered. It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but it may as well have been given the expression on Sol’s face. “It’s easy to love you, Solstråle. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done, because you are good and kind and beautiful.”

“Stop.” Sol choked out, wiping at her face and willing the tears to stop. She’d never been very good at taking compliments, especially from girls as pretty as Fresa.

Fresa just shook her head, though, a sad smile on her face. “No. You need to hear it, and I’m going to tell you until you believe me.”

The younger girl had barely finished speaking before Sol was surging up towards her, pressing her lips to Fresa’s almost desperately. Cradling Sol’s face in her hands, Fresa kissed her back before pressing their foreheads together. Her thumbs swiped away the tears that still slid down Sol’s cheeks, their eyes locked.

“I love you.” Sol whispered shakily. Fresa whispered it back, again, before tucking her face into Sol’s neck and wrapping her arms around the Norwegian’s waist.

Sol kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to slip out, and Fresa to realize that she was making a mistake. Yet everything Fresa learned about Sol, the good and the bad, she hadn’t gone anywhere, wasn’t going anywhere. It was with a warm feeling blooming in her chest as she tightened her hold around her girlfriend, that Sol let herself believe that Fresa saw her, and loved her all the same.

—

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x platonic reader #ingrid engen x platonic reader #ingrid engen x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #🍓☀️

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